


Brainpower

by matchka



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gen, Metal Gear Solid Secret Santa 2012, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:17:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchka/pseuds/matchka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A MGS Secret Santa gift for Slythgeek based on her prompt: Snake, Otacon, and Sunny have a fluffy Snotacon adventure in a superhero AU world</p>
<p>Sunny's upset because she lacks superpowers. What will it take to convince her she's just fine without them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brainpower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slythgeek](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=slythgeek).



“Uncle Snake, why don’t I have superpowers?”

The question took Snake by surprise. He accidentally inhaled his morning coffee, choking on the too-sweet liquid. Sunny stared up at him expectantly. Damn, this wasn’t a question he could get out of answering. Where was Otacon when you needed a convenient diversion?

“Why do you ask?” Snake replied.

Sunny made a face. Clearly, his response was less than satisfactory. “Well, you have superpowers. And so do Uncle Hal, and Uncle Jack, and even Aunt Meryl. Why don’t I? D...d…didn’t my mom have superpowers too? Uncle Hal says she was really strong, and tough, and…”

“Sunny, stop.” 

She paused mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open, eyes wide and comical. She was holding a frying pan in her left hand. Why the hell was she walking around the Nomad wielding cooking utensils?

“Listen.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Your mom…Uncle Hal’s right about her being tough. But she wasn’t a superhero. She was a normal person, like you.”

“B…b…but she was really strong.” Standing there in her little pink apron, wielding her frying pan like a weapon, she was fifty percent Olga Gurlukovich – all bristling defiance and refusal to quit – and the rest Otacon, awkward and not especially well-versed in critical thinking. 

“Well, sometimes normal people are really strong.” It was just like Otacon to disappear when Sunny had pressing questions. He’d been out on a supply run when Sunny had wanted to know where babies came from (Snake had told her they were grown in vats. She’d seemed reasonably satisfied, if a little suspicious.) “Sometimes they don’t even realise how strong they are until something happens and they have no choice but to act. That’s why even superheroes sometimes lose to normal sometimes.”

“Oh.” 

“Sunny? Is something wrong?”

“N...n...no, Uncle Snake. I was just…it’s silly.” The frying pan drooped, no longer a symbol of defiant resistance. Just a misplaced item of kitchen paraphernalia. He almost felt bad for her. Which of her silly kid’s dreams had he inadvertently crushed this time? He wasn’t made to be around children. Hell, even Otacon’s flights of fancy and emotional turbulence 

“Nothing’s silly. Come on, talk to your Uncle Snake.” He put down his coffee cup, patted the seat next to him. She regarded him uncertainly for a moment, then climbed up to join him, Her sneakered feet dangled off the chair, toes barely touching the ground. Jesus, she was so tiny and delicate and breakable. Whose idea was it to leave him in charge? He went to pull a cigarette from the open packet on the side table. Sunny shot him a stern look. Snake sighed. Fine. It’d be easier to mollify her if he avoided pissing her off. “You’ve got the floor. Talk.”

For a moment, there was a silence so awkward it felt like Snake had interrupted one of Otacon’s weird catgirl cartoons. The Nomad was grounded, running only its most vital systems, and so the usual roar of the engines was conspicuously absent. Only the quiet thrum of the ventilation system broke the hush. Finally, after what seemed like a painfully long time, Sunny spoke.  
“I guess…I guess I thought maybe I’d grow into my superpowers,” she said, a little sadly. “Then I could be strong, like my mom. B…but I guess I’m just ordinary.”

“That’s crap,” Snake said. “You’re plenty strong. You practically forced me to cut down my cigarette habit. You have any idea how tough that makes you? Even Ocelot couldn’t do that, and persuasion was his superpower.”

“It’s not the same,” Sunny sighed, fiddling listlessly with the frying pan still clutched in both hands.

Now he needed a cigarette. If she was this disconsolate now, how would she be when she hit puberty? They’d have to set up a hotline to Meryl’s place. There was no way he was dealing with questions about boys and bras, and Otacon would probably implode with embarrassment at the mere thought. Heh. Still, he felt bad for the kid. It was hard enough living in a constantly moving vehicle with only a socially inept computer geek and an emotionally stunted old man for company. They were as close to role models as the poor girl had. No wonder she didn’t know how to communicate with people.

From outside, there came a sudden thud of impact; the Nomad rattled, a shower of unsecured ornaments and knick-knacks rained to the floor, making Sunny jump. Snake got to his feet, made for the door of the nomad when suddenly, there came a buzz over the Codec.

“Snake,” came a voice. Fuzzy and faraway, but definitely Otacon. “You uh, you might want to come and help me out here.”

“What’s the problem?” Snake asked. Why was the Codec so fuzzy? Electromagnetic interference? What the hell was Otacon up to? A high-pitched, metallic screech cut through the air, causing Sunny to jam her hands over her ears. Shit. It had to be…

“It’s Rex,” Otacon said. “He’s back”.

Snake turned to Sunny. “Uncle Hal and I need to deal with something outside,” he said. No need to panic her. “I need you to stay here and, uh, feed the chickens.”

She looked at him quizzically. “But we just did that an hour ago.”

“They need to be fed again.” He grabbed his Socom from the gun rack, stuffed a box of ammo into the pocket of his khakis. Goddamit, how was he supposed to fight in a turtleneck sweater? He’d have to force Otacon to get some plain t-shirts next time he went clothes shopping. “Fat chickens lay tastier eggs. It’s science. Now, don’t go anywhere. We’ll be right back.”

Snake clambered off the Nomad and ran out into the scrubland surrounding them. How Otacon had managed to locate a Walmart in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness was beyond Snake’s understanding. Something to do with “Boogle maps” or some techie crap. Rex’s towering form was a blight on the landscape, a gigantic grey monolith looming over Otacon’s tiny, cowering form. One giant foot came crashing down inches away, sending another tremor rumbling through the ground. Around Otacon were several scattered shopping bags. Snake hoped Rex wouldn’t squash the fabric softener.

“Can’t you talk to him?” Snake hissed at Otacon through the codec. 

“He won’t listen,” Otacon replied. “He’s upset about something. I don’t know. He’s not normally this irrational.”

Snake sighed. What good was the ability to ‘talk machine’ when you couldn’t even convince a dumb robot to stop marauding? “Okay. Stay there. I’ll be over.” Chameleon-like, he switched colour so he was the same murky green-brown shade as the dry grass surrounding him. The Socom warped and expanded, taking on the form of a Stinger missile launcher, camouflaged alongside him. Quietly, he made his way through the tall grass, painfully aware of the flapping sound his slippered feet made as he walked.

“U...u…uncle Snake?” Sunny whispered through the Codec. “Is Uncle Hal okay?”

“Sunny,” he hissed, dropping into a crouch. Rex started at the sudden rustle of grass, but didn’t see him, and continued ripping great chunks of earth out of the ground. “I thought I told you to feed the chickens.”

“T…t…there’s a Metal Gear standing right next to him.”

“I know. It’s alright. Me and my friend Mr Missile Launcher are going to have a nice talk with it. See if we can persuade it to go away.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea. You might make it angry.”

“I’m not sure if you noticed, Sunny, but it’s already pretty pissed off. See how it’s throwing great big lumps of dirt around and stomping a lot? Go back inside. We’ll be home soon.” He cut the call and got back to his feet, acutely aware of the creaking sound his joints made as he rose. He longed for his sneaking suit and the built-in massage function. As he grew closer, he heard Otacon pleading in that bizarre, made-up-sounding machine language only he knew how to speak. Rex’s agitation seemed to grow with each sentence. Slowly, it raised one massive foot, adjusting its position so the shadow fell directly over Otacon’s huddled little form.

“Alright, Rex,” Snake muttered to himself. “Let’s do this the hard way.”

The recoil, as always, took him by surprise. The missile streamed through the air, making swift and violent contact with Rex’s foot. It let out a strangled, mechanical squeal of surprise, paused comically with its leg cocked, smoke streaming from the charred metal.

“Snake,” Otacon said. “I don’t think that was a very good idea.”

As if in concurrence, Rex let out a roar of rage. The damaged foot came crashing down on one of Otacon’s discarded shopping bags. It swivelled with alarming speed, turning to face Snake. His camo-powers were useless against Rex’s thermal imaging. He’d been discovered, and if he did not disable Rex within the next thirty seconds, he’d be little more than Snake-coloured paste on the floor.

He raised the missile launcher high on his shoulder. Rex’s weak spot came in and out of focus, swaying as the robot readied itself to charge. He had one opportunity, and he had to make it count. Despite his almost preternatural ability to stay calm in a crisis, his heart was pounding like a jackhammer against his ribcage. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his nose as he took aim.

The missile thundered upwards. Snake was thrown backwards by the recoil, landing in a painfully in a patch of gorse. It was a good shot. It careered towards Rex’s weak spot, arcing with impossible grace through the blue sky, and for a stupid moment Snake truly thought he’d done it, mission completed, everybody go home.

At the last second, Rex ducked. The missile sailed cheerfully past, disappearing harmlessly into the blue.

Uh-oh.

Rex charged. It seemed unthinkable that such an unwieldy machine should move with such speed, such poise, but it was upon him before Snake could even pick himself up and out of the gorse. The foot slammed down. Only his own super-strength prevented Rex from crushing him completely. His arms strained against the gigantic foot hovering inches from his soft, delicate skull.

“Otacon,” he grunted. “You think you could convince him not to grind me into a pulp?”

“I already told you, Snake,” Otacon said. He sounded near-hysterical. “He won’t listen to me. It’s like something’s gone wrong in his programming. He’s determined to kill us both, and no amount of negotiation will convince him otherwise. I think he may have been brainwashed, or whatever the robot equivalent is.”

Brainwashed? 

“Ocelot,” Snake muttered. “Sneaky bastard’s figured out how to make his powers work on the Metal Gears. He just doesn’t know when to quit, does he?” The stink of burnt-out wiring and smouldering metal was choking. His sweaty hands were beginning to slip from Rex’s foot. He didn’t have much time. He’d have to try something drastic.

“Otacon,” he said. “I need you to grab the Stinger.”

“What?” It was like he’d asked him to launch his own sister. “Snake, I don’t know how to use that thing. I’ll break both my arms and probably kill you in the process.”

“You have to try.” His chest was tight, his arms burning with effort. “Can you see it from where you are?”

“Yes, but…”

“Grab it.” The foot descended another half-inch. The cold metal pressed hard against Snake’s cheek. “I don’t care what you do with it. Just do something.”

“Snake, I…”

“Now.”

The ensuing pause felt like the longest of Snake’s life. It must have amounted to a few seconds, but it felt like hours. Finally, as Snake was beginning to think Otacon had pissed his pants and run away, he heard a tiny, triumphant voice come through the codec: “I did it!”

Did what? Snake thought, but then the foot was rising, and cold air was rushing into his lungs, and the sky once again came into view. His exhausted arms flopped uselessly to his sides. He was dimly aware of Rex retreating across the grassland, a grey shape on the periphery of his vision, and Otacon running towards him, arms flailing, glasses askew.

“What just happened?” Otacon asked, kneeling beside him. He felt the other man’s arms around him as he was dragged up, into a sitting position. He rested his aching head against Otacon’s chest, feeling the sharp, familiar bones of him through his sweater.

“I think,” Snake said, “it was Sunny.”

 

*

They salvaged what they could of Otacon’s shopping and went back to the Nomad. They sat in the galley, their shaking hands clutching lukewarm cups of Starbucks coffee, which Snake thought tasted like pisswater. Sunny offered to cook but neither of them was particularly hungry. 

“Sunny, what exactly did you do back there?” Otacon asked.

She shrugged. “It wasn’t anything, really. I wrote a really simple virus and transmitted it wirelessly into his central processing unit. Once it took hold, it wiped whatever he’d been ordered to do from his memory.”

Snake grunted in appreciation. “Pretty smart thinking,” he said.

She flushed a little. “No, it’s really n…n…nothing,” she said. “Uncle Hal could’ve done the same thing.”

“Are you kidding?” Otacon was sitting at the computer, working through reams of incomprehensible code. “Sunny, this would’ve taken me hours to write. You’re telling me you did this in five minutes? That’s incredible. Absolutely unbelievable.”

Snake studied Sunny for a moment. The kid was her mother’s daughter all right, from the grey Gurlukovich hair right down to the asskicking boots she’d insisted on them buying for her. But maybe they were good role-models, after all. Maybe they had left some kind of positive mark on her. Their fighting spirit. Otacon’s intelligence. Snake’s ability to think outside the box in a crisis.

Maybe she was more like them than any of them had first thought.

“Hey, Sunny,” he said. “Remember when I told you that normal people could be just as good, if not better, than superheroes? And you didn’t believe me? You just did something that me and Uncle Hal combined couldn’t do. You stopped a robot the size of a house from squashing us both flat.” The pride in her eyes was unmistakeable, but she didn’t say anything. Apparently, Otacon’s total inability to take a compliment had also rubbed off on her. “I’d say that was pretty damn super, wouldn’t you?”

“No kidding,” Otacon said, a little awed. He sat back down at the table and downed the rest of his coffee in one long gulp.

She seemed to think about this for a long moment. Then, with a little skip: “I’m going to m..m..make us some celebratory eggs!” She headed for the kitchen. Her boots clanged hollowly on the stairs as she climbed.

“It’s a shame she can’t cook eggs half as well as she can code,” Otacon muttered.


End file.
